


Saucy Jack

by kimberlyeab



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Historical, London, Sex Work, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberlyeab/pseuds/kimberlyeab
Summary: An American cowboy who gets called ma'am, a London streetwalker, and a disgraced samurai team up to kill Jack the Ripper.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to my Patrons who helped start this project by picking it for January's monthly poll.

Angela laid in bed, ravaged by a fever. The world beyond her immediate surroundings was a haze. Every little movement was agony and her only salvation was the small cup of water placed at her bedside.

She knew the hour was starting to grow late, even for a woman of her profession.

It made her sister’s absence even more pressing, concerning even. London was a tough city and that was especially true for the women who sold their bodies on the street corners near the harbourfront and in the factory districts.

Angela reached for the cup, with a shaky hand, grabbing it. There was only a small ration left, floating at the bottom. She took a sip from it, sighing as the lukewarm beverage cooled her, maybe even temporarily breaking the fever.

“Where are you Rebecca?” she asked aloud.

Her lips were cracked and voice hoarse, wheezing through a windpipe that was ravaged by soreness.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t just linger here for the rest of the night. She groaned and forced herself to her feet. Her legs wobbled under her, threatening to topple her over and knock her back down onto the battered mattress. It was the only one in their small single room flat.

She stumbled over to the bucket on the table, clutching the blanket tightly as she did so.

Even this short walk felt like a marathon, leaving her heart racing and complexion caked in a sickly sweat.

The bucket was, thankfully, nearly full and mostly clean. She dipped the beaten metal cup into it and took another hungry sip, finishing nearly half of it.

After refilling her cup again, she stumbled back to bed.

_Where was Rebecca?_

That was never a good question to ask in this city. Especially with their profession and the heightened hazards that had been inflicted upon it as of late.

“Surely, a client just paid extra to have her spend the night,” she whispered.

Though that would’ve been a first. No one really shilled out for any experience that lasted beyond the normal five-minute exchange. Not even the bookkeepers and clerks who could’ve easily afforded such a luxury.

Before she reached the bed, she felt her stomach growl. It was the first sign that she desired sustenance in two long days.

Angela changed direction to a small pantry off to the side. Upon opening it, she saw that the contents were rather sparse. A few pieces of bread, some preserve, and a little chunk of heavily salted meat.

She took one of the pieces of bread and bit into it, happy that it seemed to settle her ravenous gullet. At least, for now.

With her hunger sated, she closed the pantry, trying to drive down the mounting guilt inside of her. There was no time to spare for illness, in London. No time for idleness. Her fever was a bane upon this household and she couldn’t stand to be a bane.

It also didn’t help that it fed into her worrying about Rebecca.

“If I were out there, she wouldn’t be alone,” Angela whispered, finally returning to the bed and laying down upon it. “If something happens to her, it’s all my fault.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, taking little nibbles from the bread. That’s all she could afford to take in her current state.

Hopefully, sleep would soon come, and when she awoke, Rebecca would be there at her side. Probably tan her hide for getting crumbs all over the place.

She breathed slowly, trying to tune out the rasp in her voice.

Slowly, she felt herself start to fade.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK._

Her eyes snapped open and she groaned. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She slowly got to her feet. “That better be you, Rebecca. This cold has already left me half dead and I wouldn’t doubt that worrying about you would get the job done.”

She stumbled towards the door, clutching the blankets like a robe.

_Rebecca had never lost her keys before. It’s probably bad news._

“Shut up,” Angela whispered to her rebellious mind.

She reached for the lock and turned it, opening the door. As it swung open, there was a gentleman on the other side, dressed in a fine suit.

He smiled at her. “Miss Broadbank?”

“One of them,” she replied. “Is there something I could help you with?”

He took off his top hat and held it against his chest. His hair was black with specks of grey, his complexion pale, and face weathered and old. He looked nothing like her usual clientele, yet he was oddly familiar.

_Far too much money and sense to be one of her usuals…_

“I was wondering if I could partake in your services?” he asked.

She snorted. “My apologies but I am feeling incredibly unwell, tonight, Mister…”

“Fairbanks,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Anthony Fairbanks.”

She took it and shook it gently. “Maybe we could convene once I’ve overcome this nasty fever?”

“I am just looking for a discussion, tonight, dear,” he said. “Normally I would employ the services of a priest but they are terribly difficult to find at this hour. Plus, between you and me, people frown more upon Catholics than those who dabble in your trade.”

This made Angela smile. She looked him over, biting her lip.

He seemed to sense her apprehension and reached into his pocket, producing five coins.

“Five shilling for your time,” he offered.

Five shillings was not a small amount of money. Hell, it was about what she could hope to make during a usual evening.

Angela nodded and stepped away from the door, inviting him inside. She motioned towards the dresser and he placed his coinage atop it.

“Well, I’m not a priest but what sins do you have to confess?” she asked, a teasing edge to her voice. She then smiled. “Am I supposed to add, _my son_?”

Anthony locked the door and turned to her, offering a polite smile. “Well, I suppose I should start by admitting that I dabble in prostitutes.”

“Truly a crime that you will have to do penance for,” Angela said, chuckling. “You’ll have to tell me how that goes.”

“It has… not been a painless process,” he admitted. “God requires a high price for such a crime.”

Angela rolled her eyes.

“Anything else?” she asked

“I have laid my hands upon my fellow man in a violent fashion,” Anthony said as he shook his head. “And I have… committed murder.”

This made Angela tense. “Murder?”

He nodded and placed his hat on the nearby table, reaching inside. “It’s a part of the penance, dear. For I may have sinned, by indulging in their flesh, but those who sell it are temptresses. Sirens that Homer warned us about and the bible reinforced.”

Anthony sighed and looked at her with utter pity in his eye. “Would you believe me if I said this wasn’t personal, dear?”

He drew forth a knife, a proper blade, inspecting it closely.

“If you’re quiet, this will be painless,” he said. “But if you scream then I will be forced to act with haste, which only makes the process much more painful.”

Angela of course screamed, doing so to the best of her abilities. Though it came out as little more than a troubled wheeze as she started to cough, hacking on her own illness.

“I have also committed one final crime,” Anthony admitted, sighing. “Sins are so easy to get started on. All it takes is one and the next thing you know you’re up to the neck in penance.” He advanced on her. “I’m sure by now you’ve figured out that I told you a lie.”

Angela tried to slide back but all she found was a wall to her back as she bumped into it. There was no weapon here, just peeled paint and blemished paper.

“My name isn’t really, Anthony Fairbanks,” he said. “Though I’m sure you’ve figured out who I really am.”

* * *

[Visit my website if you want to find more of my work](https://kimberlyeab.carrd.co/)


	2. Chapter 2

Rebecca stood outside of her apartment building, watching as members of the London Police went inside. They seemed to be detectives, dressed in the finery of their station.

When they entered, they were steel faced and stern looking, seeming to command utter respect and authority.

Then a few minutes passed and two shell shocked husks exited.

It wasn’t Rebecca’s first encounter with one of these scenes. There had been an epidemic of violence against people like her this year, with one gentleman stealing all of the headlines.

“Wonder why someone would do something like this,” a man next to Rebecca asked.

His friend snorted. “Fame.”

“What kind of fame do you honestly get from this?” the first man asked. He shook his head in utter disdain.

“I mean clearly some,” the friend said. “He’s on the front page of every newspaper from St. Marylebone to Lewisham.”

“Crying shame to see another young girl cut down,” an older woman whispered.

The first man snorted. “Well, she clearly wasn’t some innocent dove.”

“Doesn’t mean she deserved to have that happen to her,” the woman scolded. “Dear, just needed to find herself a husband.”

That’s when Rebecca tuned them out, making her way around the barrier to a pair of uniformed officers. During work, she would want nothing to do with them. But at the moment, they were her only connection to the scene inside.

“Miss Broadbank,” one of them greeted. His tone was solemn, his gaze pitiful. “Wish we had something to report but the detectives are keeping everything close to their chest.”

“Probably so they can sell whatever scoop they have to the Post,” Rebecca grumbled under her breath.

The officer nodded. “That’s likely the case.” He sighed. “Do you have somewhere you can spend the night? I don’t think…” He worked his jaw. “I don’t think your current abode is particularly liveable at the moment.”

“Not saying that it’s bad,” the second officer interjected, holding up his hand. “Just…”

Rebecca snorted. “You don’t need to sugar coat it. It was _him_. I can only imagine what it looks like inside.”

And she could only imagine what her poor sister must’ve gone through up there. Hopefully, it was quick.

Of course, the officers would say that it was. But whether that was true or not would be the stuff that kept Rebecca up at night.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice called from over her shoulder.

She turned and saw another pair of stern-faced detectives approach. They looked like they were a cut above those green-faced cowards who had just entered her apartment.

“Detective Clark from Scotland Yards,” one of the detectives said before gesturing to his partner. “And this is Detective Fleur.”

The second detective nodded.

There was a third gentleman with them who tilted the brim of his hat towards the constables.

“Dr. Watson,” he introduced himself, offering a terse smile. “Pleasured.”

The constables glanced at each other and moved to the side, allowing them to enter. When they were gone, they stepped back into position and looked to Rebecca.

“If it means anything, they’re the best of the best,” one of the officers said. He then withdrew a pencil and piece of paper. “I’d recommend that you get yourself somewhere warm and try and catch some sleep, Miss Broadbank. We’ll send an officer with updates when we learn something.”

Rebecca bit her lip and nodded. “I’ll probably be staying with Sarah Winters. She lives over on Regal Ave. You know, near the docks?”

The Officer nodded. “Which building.”

“The red brick one that’s a block north of Clark Station. Do you know it?”

“I’m sure we could figure it out.” He jotted down the final detail and pointed the pencil at her. “And I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“We’ll catch that bastard,” the second officer said.

He almost sounded like he believed it himself.

“I’m sure you will,” Rebecca murmured under her breath. She then sighed and looked at them. “Thank you for keeping me in the loop.”

“It’s the least we could do, Miss.”

With that she peeled away, making her way north, away from the crime scene. There was no point loitering, no information she could really get that wasn’t already painfully obvious.

She’d heard the stories, read them in the paper. She knew of the butcher and his methods. Surely, he had been quick with her sister. Surely, she hadn’t felt much pain.

Tears prickled in Rebecca’s eyes and she ducked into an alleyway. A few people glanced at her as she beat a hasty retreat. But people knew not to ask questions in this city.

She covered her mouth with a hand, stemming the worst of her ugly noises. A few moments alone, that’s all she needed. A few moments to get her mind in order and try to figure out what she should do.

Sarah would offer temporary shelter but that flat was already crammed full of people.

And could she honestly continue with this line of work? Her sister had just been murdered by a man who had a card out for every streetwalker in London, herself included.

“Maid?” she whispered to herself. “I could become a maid.”

Surely, there were hundreds of households in the city who were looking for one.

“Not an easy line of work to get into,” an unfamiliar and foreign voice interrupted.

Rebecca gasped and jerked back, watching as the gentleman approached from the street.

_American? Was that… an American?_

He smirked. “Honestly, it’d be pretty hard to break into that line of work without a couple of good references.”

Except it wasn’t a gentleman. It was a woman dressed in the clothing of a man, wearing a buttoned-up shirt and a pair of dress pants. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, showing off a pair of surprisingly toned arms.

It wasn’t surprising that Rebecca had assumed this woman was a man. She seemed to be trying her best to pass for one. Her hair was cropped short and coloured an incredible dark shade of brown. And there was a scar that tarnished her left cheek.

She smirked at Rebecca as she leaned against the wall of a neighbouring building. “Relax I’m not going to mug you.” She chuckled and reached into her breast pocket, producing a tin. “Some tobacco to settle your nerves?”

“No thank you,” Rebecca whispered.

She studied the woman, watching as she flipped open the tin and produced a small white stick, placing it between her lips.

“Is that a cigarette?” Rebecca asked.

The woman nodded. “Rolled them myself.”

Tobacco was very much a middle-class staple. It was not something that Rebecca was prepared for from a woman this gruff.

The woman lit the tip of the little stick and drew in a drag. She held it for a good couple of seconds before letting out a cloud of ashen smoke.

“I’m Carl by the way,” this woman said.

“What kind of woman is named, Carl?” Rebecca blurted before even realizing what she was even saying.

The woman smirked. “This one.”

A simple but effective answer.

“And what can I do for you Carl?” Rebecca asked, finally snapping back to her senses.

Carl drew in another drag and let it out in a terse puff. “You lived in that boarding house over on Smith and St. Johns, right?”

“And what is it to you?” Rebecca asked. She instinctively clutched her hands into fists. “Are you a reporter.”

“Am I a reporter?” Carl asked herself, snorting. “Maybe I’ll try picking it up some day. But no, I’m currently not a reporter. I’m more of a concerned citizen.”

Rebecca held her tongue, sizing up this woman. There wasn’t really much to pick up on. She seemed to be masking any of her emotions under a cloud of cigarette smoke. The gesture felt more like a disguise, something to keep her busy so she couldn’t reveal anything.

“Concerned citizen,” Rebecca whispered, shaking her head. “There’s no such thing. Not in London anyways.”

“You’d be surprised,” Carl commented.

“And can I ask what a concerned citizen wants with me?” Rebecca asked.

Carl smirked. “I would like to offer you a job.”

Rebecca paused for a moment, working her jaw. “And what kind of work do you do, Miss Carl?”

“Well, I take contracts to fix problems,” Carl explained, rolling her cigarette between a forefinger and thumb. “And I think you might be able to help me with a mutual problem that has been plaguing this city.”

“ _Him_ ,” Rebecca whispered.

Carl nodded. “I’m being paid by a pair of benefactors who would very much like to have their girls be safe and sound. And I have a feeling that you might be able to help me keep them safe and sound.”

“And how would I be able to do that?” Rebecca asked.

Carl took another puff of her cigarette, letting the smoke waft away. She glanced towards the alley’s entrance.

“Well, I guess we could start with a couple of questions,” she said. “But after that’s done, I’m looking for reliable people to help me put this guy in the ground. And no offense but I know your profession and I have a feeling that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.”

Rebecca frowned, though didn’t outright refuse.

“I’ll… think about it,” is what she finally went with.

Carl smiled and reached back into her pocket, producing a little card. “I’m staying at the Hilltop Hotel. If you do decide to take me up on my offer, give this to the receptionist and they’ll take you to me.”

Rebecca took the card, looking at it. It was printed upon a textured piece of paper and written in plain black ink.

_Carl Le Blanc._

_Pinkerton Detective Agency._

“You’re a Pinkerton?” Rebecca asked. “Didn’t know that they even operated in London.”

Carl snorted. “Was and no they don’t. Probably would do it again if I ever find myself state side though.” She smirked. “But you know how it is?”

Rebecca very much did not know how it was. But she nodded along regardless.

“Anyways, I’ll see you around, Miss Broadbank,” Carl said. She dropped her cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her foot. “At least I hope so.”

With that, she made her exit, heading back towards the street.

Though before she reached it, she looked over her shoulder. She looked like she was about to say something but held her tongue. Instead, she turned away and merged back into the foot traffic, becoming another body amongst many.

This left Rebecca alone with the card. She flipped it over, running her finger over the material. It felt pricey. It felt legitimate. Even if this Carl figure seemed like a complete ruse, she could at the very least invest in good quality notary.

Rebecca probably should’ve discarded the card. It would be best if she thought nothing more of this strange encounter.

Yet, the strangeness was the very reason she held onto it. She placed it in her handbag, hoping it would not get lost amongst the clutter.

“I better get to Sarah’s,” she whispered under her breath.

And with that, she was off.

* * *

Rebecca knocked upon the apartment’s door and waited patiently as she heard movement on the other side.

It cracked open, an inch, and an eye peered out. This eye recognized her and widened as the figure jerked back. The door closed, for a second, before it opened wider, revealing a concerned looking woman.

This was Sarah.

“Oh Rebecca,” she said. “Are you okay?”

A silly question but it was the only one people seemed to come up with.

“I’m doing the best that I can,” Rebecca replied. She motioned towards the door. “Can I…”

Sarah nodded quickly and stepped out of the way. “Of course, hun. Can I get you something to drink? I have tea, fresh from China.”

“How can you possibly afford tea?” Rebecca asked.

She looked around Sarah’s flat as she entered, seeing that it was already crammed full of stuff. It was about as big as her apartment. But unlike hers, this one had three beds, housing three times as many girls.

Sarah shrugged. “Genevieve has a regular who works down at the docks. He always manages to put aside a little for his favourite girl.” She then offered a shit-eating grin. “Then said girl brings it back here where I can pinch a little when she’s out shopping. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

She motioned to a table off in the corner of the room.

“Terrible thing,” Sarah said. “Read about it in the newspapers. Is it true that…”

“I haven’t read the papers!” Rebecca cut in, clenching her teeth. “I haven’t… had a chance to uh… learn about the gory details.”

“Probably for the best. Doesn’t sound particularly pleasant,” Sarah replied.

She lit a lucifer and used it to kindle the apartment’s stove. As it heated up, she started to fill a kettle, placing it on top.

“So, I’m guessing that you’re looking for a place to stay?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca nodded. “At least until the police are done at mine.” She sighed, glancing down at the floor. “If they’re ever done.”

“Well, it might be a little cramped here but I’m sure that we could fit you in somewhere.” Sarah snorted. “Hell, Trixie is gone most nights anyways, so I’m sure you can probably bunk in her bed. Steph is a bit weird but she doesn’t bite or anything.”

“Thanks Sarah,” Rebecca said.

She placed her bag upon the table and took a seat, reaching inside. Her finger brushed against a textured card.

A familiar card.

Instinctively, she drew it out, giving it another look.

“What’s that?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca shook her head. “Just ran into some weirdo when I was making my way here. She was a woman but her name was Carl.”

“A woman named Carl,” Sarah said, humming to herself. “Yeah, that is pretty weird.”

“Even weirder, she offered me a job,” Rebecca explained.

“Like a legit job?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca snorted. When Sarah cocked a brow, she held up the card.

“Claims she’s an American,” she said, “working for some bigwigs who want to hunt down… well… you know who.”

“I know who…” Sarah whispered then it clicked. “Ah the bloke who keeps doing girls in? That freak?”

Rebecca nodded. “Said that she wanted to ask me a few questions and that she was looking for some reliable hands to help her with whatever she has planned.”

“Well, I’d say your hands are pretty reliable,” Sarah quipped. “What harm is there in checking her out. Least you can do is see if her offer is legit.”

“I mean if she’s really hunting _him_ down then I’d be a little concerned about _him_ hunting her back.” Rebecca shuddered. “The last thing I want is to end up like Angela.”

She drew in a breath through her nose, smelling burning fuel. As she looked over, she saw that Sarah was spooning a black mixture into a pair of steel bulbs. These were then placed into a pair of metal cups.

“Mind if I take a look at that business card?” Sarah asked

Rebecca held it out and her friend came over, taking it from her.

“Feels nice,” Sarah commented, giving it a look. She hummed to herself, flipping it over and rubbing her thumb across it. “It feels pretty legit.”

“Right?” Rebecca chuckled. “If it’s some sort of a scam, then it’s a really good one.”

“Carl Le Blanc,” Sarah read. She looked up at Rebecca. “Are you sure this is a woman?”

“That was the strangest part. She told me her name was Carl. Also, she dressed like a dockhand down at the harbourfront,” Rebecca explained. “All rather peculiar for a woman.”

Sarah shrugged. “Could just be an American thing. They always seem to be doing weird stuff.” She smirked. “At least you know she’ll probably have some kind of cowboy gun.”

“I doubt she has a cowboy gun,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes. “Not all Americans are cowboys, Sarah.”

“I mean…” Sarah glided over to the kettle, taking it off of the stove and filling the cups. “I’d hope that she has some sort of gun. Can’t really take that monster down with your bare hands.” She pointed her finger at Rebecca and winked. “Bang! That’s the only way you’re going to kill him.”

“Still this whole thing feels rather queer,” Rebecca murmured.

Her friend came over with the two pewter mugs, placing them on the table.

Rebecca took one and drew in a breath, smelling the richness of tea. It had been years since she’d had any. Years since a gentleman had seen fit to find her some.

“Do you want my opinion?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca thought about it, for a moment, and nodded.

“This whole situation is extremely queer,” Sarah said as she drummed her fingers against her mug. “Your sister was just killed by a literal monster who preys on women like us. If nothing else you should take this American’s money just so you can get yourself off of the streets. It’s not safe out there, Rebecca. This freak is getting into people’s heads, and now, even the regular blokes are scared to go near us.”

“I can’t just abandon you girls,” Rebecca whispered.

Sarah snorted. “Why not? It happens all the fucking time, hun. You remember, Regina?”

Rebecca nodded.

“Ended up giving head to some Captain in the Royal Navy,” Sarah explained. “Blew his fucking mind and the next thing you know she’s living in a cozy manor near the shore in Wessex or Sussex or one of those places.” She waved her hand. “I know one-in-a-million with her. But tons of the girls end up shacking up with their clients.”

“She was a bit of a rarity, wasn’t she?” Rebecca then sighed. “I just feel like I’m leaving you girls while that freak is out trying to off us.”

Sarah picked up her mug and took a sip, grimacing as she did so.

“A little strong,” She commented. As she placed it back down, she looked at Rebecca. “I go out with six other girls on a regular night. We watch out for one another. This freak is dangerous but he attacks girls who are on their own.”

“Could be a John trying to hire you,” Rebecca said. “Make it a lot easier to get you separated.”

She took a sip of her tea, smacking her lips together as she did so. It was a little on the strong side but it was also richer than anything she’d had in a very long time.

“He could be,” Sarah agreed. “But that isn’t something that could be helped by you still being on the streets.”

Rebecca pursed her lips, looking down at the little mug of tea before her. She drummed her fingers against the side of it. The hollow taps echoed, providing her with a distraction to think.

“What if she’s the… _‘gentleman’_ causing all this mess?” she asked.

Sarah snorted. “Love, you can’t let this get to your head.”

“Kind of hard not to,” Rebecca grumbled.

“I know, I know but…” Sarah sighed. “I know I like to shit on this city but there is only one monster out there looking to murder us. That means there are literally a million regular blokes who either like us or plainly don’t give two shits. Chances are, if this American wanted to off girls, she could’ve done it back in America.”

“Right, Right.” Rebecca sighed. “I suppose I’ll go see her.”

“That a girl.” Sarah then grinned. “Do you want another piece of free advice?”

“What’s that?” Rebecca asked.

“If you get a chance, try and get her to take you to a café for this meeting,” Sarah suggested. “That way you might be able to con her out of a free meal.”

Rebecca snorted. “Sure thing, Sarah.”

“And, and…” Sarah wagged her finger. “If you can bring back leftovers that would be even better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rebecca said.

Sarah smirked. “I like bagels.”

* * *

[Visit my website if you want to find more of my work](https://kimberlyeab.carrd.co/)


	3. Chapter 3

Carl walked through the blighted back alley. On either side were derelict factories, abandoned by investors who had lost the cutthroat game called land speculation.

He approached a wagon with his hands in his pockets, whistling as he did so.

There were two men there, one watching from the carriage’s seat as the other leaned against the back of it.

“Oi!” one of them called. “What do you want?”

“Just going for a walk, friend,” Carl replied, flashing him a smile. “Getting a little bit of fresh air is all.”

“Funny place to be doing that,” the second thug said.

“I’m a funny individual,” Carl replied. “The uh… scenery reminds me of home.”

The thug snorted. “You sure do look awfully funny, _ma’am_.”

That one word made Carl’s eye twitched. But otherwise, he tried not to let it show.

The first thug nodded towards him. “There’s a park a couple blocks east of here. It’ll probably get you away from the miasma.”

“Dumb ass,” the second guy said. “Everyone knows that miasma doesn’t exist.”

“Like I’m going to…” The first started.

Carl cleared his throat and both of them looked at him.

“What’s in the wagon?” he asked.

“None of your business,” one of the thugs answered.

An apt answer and the only one Carl thought he was likely to get without some incentivizing. But the question was rhetorical, he already knew what was inside.

“I’m in the employment of a Countess Luna,” Carl said. “Have you heard of her?”

The two thugs looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Well, I’m not entirely surprised. I’m pretty sure it’s an alias,” Carl explained, flashing a smile. “The point is, she’s tasked me with ensuring the safety of all the girls of the night in London. Which…” He drew forth his cigarette tin. “As you’d imagine isn’t a particularly easy job.”

“Interesting story, darling,” one of the thugs said, pushing off of the wagon and approaching him. “But what exactly does that have to do with our wagon?”

Carl smirked. “Well as I understand it, you are in the employ of Lord Baldwin?”

“Maybe we are,” the thug said, now getting right in Carl’s face. “But maybe we aren’t? What is it to you?”

As the thug drew near, Carl wrinkled his nose. There was an unwashed and filthy smell wafting off of him. He was easily a head-and-a-half taller than him and maybe even an extra fifty pounds.

“And if you are in the employ of Lord Baldwin, I know exactly what’s inside of that wagon and where it’s going,” Carl answered.

He popped open the cigarette tin and placed one between his lips.

Virginia tobacco: the good shit from back home.

As the thug scowled at him, he lit the tip with a lucifer, tossing it on the ground. Finally, he allowed himself a drag, blowing it off to the side.

“Maybe it's best that you shove your nose somewhere else, Miss…” the thug started.

“Carl,” he replied. “You can call me Carl.”

“Miss Carl,” the thug finished.

Carl smirked. “Unfortunately, my employer would be rather displeased if I allowed that to happen.” He shook his head. “I’ve learned that getting on an English Lady’s bad side is not somewhere that I wish to be.”

There was a tick, a moment of impasse, where neither party knew what the next move was going to be.

Carl slipped his hands back into his pockets, feeling a familiar brass weapon rub against both of his knuckles. He stuck his fingers through them, waiting, seeing what his opponent would do.

The thug drew his left arm back, telegraphing his swing nicely. Within a split second, Carl’s hands were out of his pocket and his left elbow was in the way of intercepting the blow. It landed, heavy, but the elbow took the brunt of the force nicely.

It was now his turn to react as he aimed a fist into the gentleman’s ribs. Bone cracked under the blow and the man stumbled back, hollering in pain.

The first jab was followed up by a second, right to the thug’s defenseless nose. It too, crunched nicely and the first gentleman was out for the count.

The second clambered off of the carriage. He scowled at Carl and thudded a lead club against his bare hand, trying his darndest to look intimidating.

Carl sighed and motioned to the other thug who was currently quivering on the ground. “Really?”

“Really,” the thug answered.

Carl rushed him, sprinting towards him as fast as his leg would carry him. Sadly, his cigarette did not survive, as it was ripped from his mouth and landed upon the filthy ground.

The man took a swing with the club but Carl ducked under it, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow to the skull.

He aimed his fist for the man’s crotch, landing a nice meaty punch.

The man roared in utterly agony, nearly lifted off of the ground from the impact of the blow. His club slipped from his fingers, thudding against the ground a mere second before his knees sunk to it. He clutched at his crotch, falling onto his side.

Carl smirked but left him in such a state. They would have to have a conversation once this was over.

He approached the carriage and saw that a simple metal rod kept the cabin jammed shut. It didn’t take much to pull it out and throw open the door.

Inside were four women. Two looked dazed, one was unconscious, and the fourth was wide awake, her gaze panicked as she saw Carl.

“Ladies,” Carl greeted. “I hope everyone is doing okay.”

The one coherent woman nodded slowly. “Who are you?”

“I am…” Carl smirked. “A concerned citizen.”

“A concerned citizen?” the woman asked. “What’s… what’s that?”

* * *

A carriage approached the front of the Hilltop Hotel, coming to a stop before it. This was not a particularly well to do neighbourhood and the sight of such a classy vehicle, with a proper driver, caught the attention of many.

They stared at Carl as he opened the door and stepped inside.

He took a seat, opposite of the carriage’s only other passenger. She was a middle-aged woman with a darker skin tone that revealed that she was from the subcontinent. She wore clothing made of a fine material and jewelry that would’ve glimmered if it wasn’t so dark inside.

“How did today go?” she asked, staring out the window as the carriage started moving.

Carl smiled. “The best it could’ve, Countess. Kicked ass and saved the girls.”

Countess Luna looked at him. “A regular Robin Hood you’ve turned out to be, Carl.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Carl said. “Unfortunately, they only had hired muscle there. Didn’t know shit about the bigger operation.”

“I see.” Luna sighed. “That is a shame but at least you spared those girls from ending up at Lord Baldwin’s estate.”

“Do you think he’s…” Carl started.

Luna shook her head. “No, he’s a cruel and evil man but he is not the cruel and evil that makes the front page. He likes to hide his work. Which honestly makes him so much worse.”

“Shame I can’t just storm his estate,” Carl said.

“Unfortunately, he has connections that would make such an endeavour futile.” Luna grabbed a bag, reaching into it. “You are a man of many talents, Carl, but even you have your limitations. You leave the duty of exposing him to me and I will leave breaking up his London operations to you.”

The carriage hit a bump but continued along.

“How goes assembling your team?” Luna asked.

Carl frowned. “Plenty of people willing to take your money. Harder to find people who would be loyal beyond it. Did put out a feeler to this girl though.”

“A girl?” Luna asked.

Carl nodded. “Sister of the latest victim. She gave me a good vibe.”

“Well, I’ve learned to trust your vibes,” Luna said. “Though if others are only motivated by currency…”

She finally found what she was looking for, producing a plain envelope and handing it to Carl.

Carl took it and cracked open the seal. Inside was a thin but substantial number of banknotes. A small fortune.

“I do apologize for distracting you from the monster on the front pages,” Luna explained. “But until you can find more help, I’m afraid I must allocate my resources as I see fit.”

“I completely understand,” Carl said.

Luna reached back into her bag and grabbed a small slip of paper. She handed this to Carl, as well.

On it were a few items, ordered from most important to least important. Most were related to Baldwin but there were a couple that targeted familiar, but less important, scumbags.

“This week’s assignments,” Luna explained. “Get them finished, then continue on assembling a team and hunting down you know who.”

Carl nodded. “Of course, Countess.”

The carriage came to a stop and as Carl looked out the window, he saw that they were back outside of the Hilltop Hotel.

“Any questions?” Luna asked.

Carl smirked. “Can I bring my gun this time around?”

“Americans and their guns,” Luna murmured, shaking her head. “I’d prefer if you only used it in an emergency. Last thing I need is you getting arrested by the actual police for brandishing one of those hand cannons.”

“Not a crime for a gentleman to be armed,” Carl muttered.

Luna snorted. “No but you have a way of making people jumpy. And jumpy police officers are less likely to care about what is and isn’t the law.”

“Couldn’t imagine why,” Carl said.

The two of them looked at each other.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Luna smiled

“Thank you for the hard work,” she said. “You’ve been an extremely beneficial asset for advancing our cause.”

* * *

Her moans punctuated the air as Carl’s tongue roved around inside of her. The sound of her pleasure was like music, finer than any he’d heard in his life.

She panted loudly as he drove her closer and closer to his objective.

Carl refused to let up. He went harder and more forceful, easing her along for those final few seconds.

Until finally, she cried out, gracing his ears with his name. That was the best note of them all, causing him to grin like an idiot as he drank from her pleasure.

“Fuck,” she whispered, thumping against the sheets. “Not bad, Carl.”

He drew back, wiping as his lips. “Thought you deserved something a little extra tonight.”

His lips graced her belly, his chin resting within the wild tuft of red hair that coloured her pelvis. He kissed her again and again, trailing his way up along her pale body. Each little peck was marked with a small sigh of relief from her, a pleasured chirp which made him smile.

It took a few moments, but he eventually reached her breasts, taking one of her nipples between his lips and suckling softly.

His hand went between her legs, once again, rubbing at her so recently pleasured sex.

“Carl,” she moaned.

He smirked. “Yes, Vicky?”

“I thought…” She quivered so delightfully under his touch. “I thought I was supposed to… get you off!”

“And you will in due time,” Carl whispered.

His journey higher continued, travelling along her chest and collarbone until his lips were near her own. He looked at her and smiled, planting a tender little kiss against her chin.

“You’re adorable,” he whispered.

Carl pressed his fingers into her and her back arched as a hushed note of excitement leaked forth.

He pressed his lips against her own, sharing in a tender note of passion. Though soon it deepened and their mouths parted. Their tongues were hungry and lustful. In that moment, they partook in the original sin, caring little for the consequences.

Carl’s mind was addled and he had no doubt that his companion existed in a similar space.

Just as he was about to pull away, there was a knock at the hotel room’s door.

Carl winced and looked towards it.

“Who is it?” he called.

“Room service, Sir,” an attendant said. “You instructed me to bring up anyone who presented your business card.”

Carl sighed. “Thank you. Could you possibly give us a couple of minutes to uh…”

Thankfully, he didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“Of course, Sir,” the attendant said. “I’ll return with her in a few minutes.”

“Her?” his companion for the evening asked, offering a sly smile. “Have you been seeing other girls, Carl?”

“Strictly for work,” he answered.

Vicky nodded. “Part of that team you’re putting together to hunt down… _him_?”

Carl got off of her, sighing as he looked down at himself. His body was covered in scratches and bite marks, his abundant arousal was draining along his legs, and he knew for a fact that Vicky’s perfume was potent, covering him in a powerful shroud of flowers and other pleasant scents.

He reached for his trousers, pulling them on. And as he glanced at Vicky, he noticed that she had grabbed her gown.

“Maybe we could pick this up tomorrow?” he suggested.

Vicky smirked. “I always have room in my schedule for you.”

“I’ll bring the wine,” he said, offering a teasing smile.

They dressed quickly with Carl getting into a pair of trousers and a sweater while Vicky pulled on her usual weathered gowned.

She approached and planted a little kiss upon his cheek. “Always a pleasure, Carl.”

“You too,” he replied.

He watched her leave.

Her course towards the door took her over to a table with a small pile of currency upon it. She took it without question, stuffing it into her bag.

And just like that, she was gone.

Carl sighed and made his way towards the window. He pulled back the curtains and saw that it was still the evening and not quite dark yet. Hopefully, Vicky would head straight for her flat and call it night. He hoped that she wouldn’t try to pick up any more clients.

But that’s all he could really do. Hope.

Before he could delve too much into these dark and dreary thoughts, the knock at the door returned.

“Let her in,” he called.

The door opened and a familiar woman entered. She was dressed in a gown that was very similar to the one Vicky owned. Her skin was pale and her hair was a soft brown that was tied back into a tight little bun. Her eyes, as she looked at him, were cold and green.

“Le Blanc,” she greeted, pronouncing the _Le_ as _Lee_.

“Rebecca,” he replied, motioning to the table in his room. “I’m surprised you decided to come this late.”

“It took me a while to even figure out if I wanted to… investigate this opportunity,” she said as she took a seat

“I don’t really blame you,” he said. “Strange fellow handing you a business card in a back alley.” He smirked. “Can I get you anything to drink? I have gin, water, and lime.”

“Just some water,” Rebecca said.

He nodded and produced two glasses, filling them from a decanter. Nice thing about staying in a hotel was not having to worry about finding this stuff himself.

With two glasses in hand, he approached the table. He placed both down and then took a seat across from her.

“So…” he started.

Rebecca nodded. “Why are you interested in me?”

“Well first off, I wanted to ask you a few questions,” Carl said. “You know, about last night.”

Rebecca snorted. “I don’t know what good that will do.”

“Maybe nothing, maybe something,” Carl answered, giving his shoulders a shrug. “But in the long term I was hoping to recruit you to a little project I’ve been working on.”

“Well how about we start with some questions first,” Rebecca said.

Carl nodded and reached into his breast pocket, producing a pad of paper and a pencil. “Do you have any questions for me before we begin?”

“Carl,” Rebecca said, sizing up the word. “That’s a peculiar name for a woman.”

“I mean, being an enforcer is a strange line of work for one as well.” Carl smirked and pointed his pencil at her. “But I liked the name so I took it.”

“What were you called before?” Rebecca asked.

He shrugged. “No idea, it’s been years since I last used it.”

“You can’t remember your name?” Rebecca asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Of course, I can remember it. Like I said, it’s Carl,” he replied, offering a grin. “Trust me you get used to it after a while.”

“And is there a reason you dress like that?” Rebecca asked.

Carl looked down at his shirt, making a show of rolling up the sleeves. “It isn’t as easy breaking someone’s nose while you’re wearing a dress.” He snorted. “But I think we’re getting a little off track here. Don’t you agree?”

“Americans are weird,” Rebecca murmured. She picked up her glass and took a sip. “Alright, what are your questions?”

Carl nodded. “So, Angela was alone at the time of her death?”

“She was,” Rebecca answered, looking quite dark.”

“Did she usually spend the nights alone?” he asked.

Rebecca shook her head. “Not usually. Usually, we’re both home before midnight but…”

“But…” Carl asked.

“I had a client ask me to stay the night. Offered me a bonus on my usual rates that I couldn’t turn down,” Rebecca said. “Angela was sick, you see, and we were running pretty low on money.”

Carl nodded. “Do you usually receive clients who ask for that kind of service?”

Rebecca sighed. “No, they’re extremely rare. This is probably the first one I’ve had one in years. Always a little strange when they want something like that. Seems like a waste of perfectly good money. Just to cuddle with someone.”

Carl held his tongue. Instead, he scribbled away at his pad.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something. Either way, if it was out of the norm, then it might be important.

“Do you know who this client was?” Carl asked.

Rebecca nodded but held her tongue.

He sighed. “I’m not working with the police, Rebecca. I promise, I won’t share any of this information.”

“I just don’t want him being troubled. He was a perfectly fine gentleman,” Rebecca explained.

“I promise I will not trouble him,” Carl said. “But his behaviour was out of the norm and it’s never a good idea to believe in coincidence when it comes to something like this.”

Rebecca sighed. “Mark Belton. He’s a foreman down at the wharves where all the fish come in.” She frowned. “You don’t honestly think that…”

“Likely he has nothing to do with it,” he said. “And I won’t be roughing him up out of the blue. I’ll just be looking into the name…” He saw the panic in her eyes and held up a reassuring hand. “Discreetly. I will be discreetly looking into him, so he can be cleared of any suspicion.”

Rebecca sighed. “I suppose that’s fair.”

She picked up her glass and took another sip, draining about half of it. Her hand was shaking slightly.

“Was Angela also…” Carl began.

Rebecca nodded. “I mean that’s why he murdered her, right?”

“Right,” Carl agreed, letting out a terse sigh. “Did she have any clients that you knew of that made her uneasy?”

“I mean there were plenty of clients like that,” Rebecca said. “Plenty of drunks and men who would get violent. But… I don’t think this bloke is like that. He seems to be incredibly sober when he does these things.”

Carl nodded solemnly. “It seems that murder is his narcotic of choice.” He frowned. “How about any high-end clients? People who really shouldn’t be looking for girls in your neighbourhood?”

“A couple of doctors and shopkeepers,” Rebecca explained. “But…”

“Doctors?” Carl asked, lifting a brow. “Do you know any of them?”

He scribbled at his pad, writing _Doctor_ and getting ready to draft a list.

“Doctor Robert Brown and Doctor Julian Aarons,” Rebecca answered. “There may have been others but not that I know of.” She blinked. “Do you…”

“Another possibility,” Carl answered. “After all, our man does seem to have a rather… advanced understanding of the human body.”

“That’s a pretty alarming thought,” Rebecca murmured under her breath. “You’d think that if there was anyone you could trust it’d be a doctor.”

“Well, this is just a theory of course,” Carl said. “And I will freely admit that I’m just naturally paranoid.”

“Of course, Mister Le Blanc,” Rebecca said. She shook her head and looked at him. “Was there anything else you wanted to know?”

Carl frowned. “Did anyone hold a grudge against, Angela?”

“I mean plenty of the girls,” Rebecca commented. “Angela had a way of always landing the best clients. Created a bit of resentment between her and a few of our… coworkers.”

“Any that you think would take drastic action against her?” Carl asked.

Rebecca’s brow knitted and she picked the glass back up, draining it.

“Amy might,” she commented. “Amy Roland. My sister snatched a really upscale patron from her. One of those gentlemen who leaves a tip larger than the actual going rate. You know the kind?”

Carl nodded. “I do.”

“Besides that…” Rebecca bit her lip, then promptly shook her head. “No, I can’t imagine any of the other girls really going that far. That man terrifies every single one of us, Mister Le Blanc, and I think Amy is the only one who would stoop low enough to use him like that.”

“Anything else you think could be of value, Rebecca?” Carl asked.

He continued to scribble at his pad of paper, drafting quite the extensive list of subjects he would have to investigate.

Rebecca shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”

There was a lull in the conversation, a pause.

Rebecca bit her lip, giving him another look. “Why don’t you tell me more about this long-term plan you’ve been working on.”

Carl leaned back into his seat and worked his jaw. “I am… trying to put together a team of reliable individuals to help me with my job.”

“Of being a concerned citizen?” Rebecca asked, smirking to herself. “Can’t see how I would be of much use in that regard, in all honesty.”

“You know the streets, you know the girls, and you know who to trust and who to avoid.” Carl smirked. “And most importantly, I think you probably have a good reason to do this besides just making money.” He snorted. “Not that there wouldn’t be money involved just…”

“You want people motivated by more than just a paycheque,” Rebecca commented.

Carl nodded. “My employer has this weird affinity for wanting to keep girls like you safe.”

“So, we’d be protecting ladies of the night?” Rebecca asked. “Seems like a pretty ambitious project you’ve got going on.”

“The Countess is a rather ambitious woman,” Carl commented.

He placed his pencil upon the table and got up, making his way over to his bedside.

Rebecca sighed, getting his attention. “The job certainly does sound interesting but… I don’t really see myself as a cowboy like you.”

“Cowboy?” Carl asked. He shook his head. “I’m from New York, Rebecca. The only cow I’ve ever seen is on a plate.”

He opened the drawer next to his bed and fished out his wallet. With it in hand, he returned to the table.

“Well, I don’t see myself as the adventurous type,” Rebecca commented.

Carl nodded. “I can respect that. Though give it some thought. The job pays well and you honestly wouldn’t be sent into anything unprepared.”

Rebecca frowned, obviously mulling it over.

“I will,” she said. “Does sound like you’ve got quite the chivalrous thing going on here.”

“It keeps me fed,” Carl said. He then held up the bag of currency. “How much do you usually take home on an average night?”

“Three, four shillings,” Rebecca said.

Carl nodded and opened his bag, pulling out eight coins. He placed them on the table.

“Consider this a thank you for the valuable information,” he said, glancing at her. “Do you still have my card?”

“I do,” Rebecca said.

“If you want to take me up on the offer, you know where to find me,” he said. “Oh, and Rebecca?”

“Yes?”

Carl worked his jaw. “Can you… possibly keep the information you shared with me discrete. Even from the police?”

This seemed to catch her off guard. “Why?”

“The detectives are more likely to sell whatever you tell them to the Post than actually use it for anything useful,” he explained. “Would only make the investigation more difficult, if you understand me.”

Rebecca nodded and glanced at the pile of coins. She picked them up, getting to her feet.

“Have yourself a nice day, Mister Le Blanc,” she said.

Carl smirked. “You as well, Rebecca.”

With that, she made her exit, closing the door gently behind herself as she departed.

This left Carl to ponder two things. The first was him trying to determine when she’d made the switch to Mister and why that had happened. The second was that he was now alone with his pad of paper.

He took a seat again, examining it closely. Four names; four vague avenues for him to try and make some sort of connection.

Did he honestly think this would lead anywhere? Not really.

This was a song and dance he knew well. None of these names were from any of the previous interviews he had conducted. People had hunches but hunches seemed to be elusive when it came to the bogeyman haunting London.

But they were all he had to go on.

“Who first,” he whispered, tracing his pencil between the four separate subjects. He snorted to himself and started to tap between them. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…”

And as the little song came to an end.

_Amy Roland._

* * *

[Visit my website if you want to find more of my work](https://kimberlyeab.carrd.co/)


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